


It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

by Styfas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Likely OOC Goodsir but desperate times call for desperate measures, M/M, No - Private Heather will NOT be involved in anal sex!, Private Heather in coma or vegetative state, Rated E? - Probably M?, Silly!, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styfas/pseuds/Styfas
Summary: In which Harry and Thomas discover that the Terror sick bay isn't the best place to have congress after all.Terror Bingo:  We Mustn't StopFor Terror Rarepair Week  2021:  Feb. 14 "free space."
Relationships: Harry D. S. Goodsir/Thomas Jopson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: The Terror Bingo, The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

**Author's Note:**

> The usual thanks to [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac), who introduced me to The Terror in the first place, and who are the second to read my fics (after me).
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply: I didn't/don't know or own any of the "real life" folks mentioned. As for their AMC "characters," I don't own those, either! They belong to AMC, producers, writers, actors, and anyone else involved with the TV programme.
> 
> This is fiction, and I'm not making any money from this.

Giddy with laughter and anxious to get started, Harry and Thomas rush along the lower deck of Terror late at night; their destination the sickbay, their purpose to have congress.

Harry came up with the idea on his walk back to Erebus the previous night after their attempt in the Great Cabin, the captain having called for Thomas in mid-congress and preventing a full finish. The sick bay, of course; why hadn’t he thought of it before?

The Terror sick bay is the perfect location. They’ll be far enough away from other cabins, and if the captain rings the bell to summon Thomas, they’ll be within range of hearing it. The examination table can hold the weight of both, should they choose a position to warrant using it in that way. Or one could stand on the floor and bend over, using the table for support, while the other enters him.

Whatever the position, Harry plans to be “the other” tonight. At last night’s interruption, he didn’t have control over the situation, being the “one” bending over the table in the Great Cabin. Tonight, he’ll take charge – and he’s determined that nothing will stop him from reaching ultimate pleasure. If that bell happens to ring, he’ll tighten his grip on his lover’s hips and keep thrusting to the finish. And if Thomas doesn’t reach climax, then Harry will happily wait in the sick bay and wait for his return, then take care of him with a hand job or a blow job. 

Harry arrives at the sick bay first, opens the curtain to allow Thomas to enter, and follows after him. He casts a quick glance at Private Heather lying in his sick bay bed on the other side of the room. The poor man: he continues to be a mystery – and yet he hasn’t succumbed.

“Come here,” Thomas growls through a lascivious smile. 

“Just a minute,” Harry says, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out a wide-mouthed bottle that once held medicine. “I managed to get some grease from Mr. Wall. Luckily, he had no questions.”

He dashes to the cupboard, flings open the upper doors, and grabs some matches; he’ll dip the sticks into the bottle to collect the grease. After hastily setting the items on the examination table, he rushes to his lover. 

They tear at each other’s clothing in a frenzy; cravats are tossed to the floor, jumpers thrown off, buttons loosened, braces lowered, and shirts flung across the room to the accompaniment of laughter. They pause to engage in fevered snogging; fingers running through each other’s hair, palms gliding along torsos, and fingertips teasing nipples. Hands stray below waists, judging the firmness of bulges under trousers. 

They help each other to open trousers and drawers. From there, it’s each man for himself, pulling off footwear and socks, kicking them aside, then peeling off lower garments until they’re both naked and facing each other with full erections. 

“On the table,” Thomas says.

It was Harry’s first envisioned choice to be on the table, face to face, he on top – but in the heat of the moment, he changes his mind. “No. You’re gonna turn around, put your arms on the table, and bend over.”

Thomas raises his eyebrows. “Mmm, I like this other side of you.” 

Harry’s inclined to laugh, but he keeps his voice steady. “You said last night you wouldn’t mind switching roles. Now it’s my turn. This is how I want it.”

“First things first.” Thomas reaches down to Harry’s cock, which is already seeping with precum. He moistens the head, swirling his thumb in small circles. 

“Grease,” Harry says between moans. “Do it, please.”

Thomas does the honours, getting the grease onto his fingers and slathering the length of Harry’s cock. 

“Bend over the table for me. Now.” 

“With pleasure.” Thomas does as asked. He turns and slowly leans over the table, displaying his firm, round buttocks, and his dark puckered hole; the one that Harry will be driving into any second now. He adjusts his feet, widening his stance and wriggling his ass slightly from side to side with each slow step. Now situated, he shifts the angle of his pelvis, tilting that glorious ass upwards in invitation.

“Listen,” Harry says firmly. “No matter what happens, we mustn’t stop. Not like we did last night.”

“But if the bell rings-"

“If the bell rings, I’ll finish what I’ve started – and then you’ll get dressed and go to the captain. When you return, we’ll do it again, however you'd like." Harry steps forward, guides his cock between Thomas’ ass cheeks, and slowly enters the tight hot channel between. He steadies his hands against Thomas’ hips and pumps in a slow steady rhythm. “Wiggle your backside for me, like you were doing before… Yes… that’s it…”

He gradually picks up the pace, faster, faster, emitting short grunts with each pounding thrust. As he nears the edge, he’s rewarded with several deep, throaty groans. Harry didn’t know that Thomas could make sounds _that_ low. “Feels good, does it? Groan for me again…“

“That wasn’t me!” Thomas shouts. “Good Christ! Get off me, Harry!”

As Thomas speaks, there’s a simultaneous low groan. One man, two voices… 

_“Get off me!”_ Thomas steps backwards, bumping against Harry’s lower abdomen, forcing him to pull out. “It’s Private Heather!” 

“Get dressed!” Harry runs to Heather’s bedside, his cock bobbing as he goes. 

“Is he waking up?”

“ _I don’t know!_ Get dressed! Hurry up!”

Private Heather’s fingers are twitching. Not unusual for someone in his state, Harry has heard. But the groaning? He hasn’t heard anything about that – but it could be possible, he supposes. 

“Heather? Can you hear me?” Harry asks, while praying inside that Heather isn’t waking up. “It’s Mr. Goodsir. Private Heather?” _Please, don’t let him be waking up…_

“Well, that’s all he’ll need is to see you with no clothes on when he opens his eyes,” Thomas says; this while he’s buttoning up his own trousers.

“There’s wax on his eyelids. He won’t see anything. Not yet.” _God willing, he won’t. Because he can’t be waking up. Not now…_

And then Private Heather groans. 

Thomas scurries about the room like a frantic squirrel, collecting Harry’s clothing, which he dumps in a heap on the examination table. He throws on his shirt, adjusts his braces, and ties his cravat in some perfunctory semblance of a knot. “Is he _trying_ to open his eyes?”

“It doesn’t seem so.” 

Thomas dons his jumper and steps into his shoes. “Come here and get dressed. Shall I get Dr. McDonald? Dr. Peddie?”

“No! Not yet!” Harry darts to the prepared pile of clothing and fishes out his shirt. “Talk to Heather,” he says, thrusting his arms through his shirt sleeves. “Shake his shoulder.” 

“No! I’m not going to touch him. I might hurt him.”

“Then just talk to him!” Harry speedily pulls up drawers and trousers and tucks in his shirt, waiting the entire time for Thomas to move – which he doesn’t. “Don’t just stand there. Go talk to him, Thomas!” 

Thomas moves with hesitant footsteps, stopping short of Heather’s bedside. “Private Heather! Are you there? Can you hear me?” He shakes his head, then looks back at Harry. “Nothing. Harry, you have to help him!”

Harry has managed to pull on socks and boots, but his cravat and jumper will have to wait. He goes to Heather’s bedside, pushing Thomas aside with a straight arm. He pinches Heather’s arm and hears a low groan. _Oh, God no… A pain response?... He could be waking up after all… unless it’s just a coincidence…_

A plan. He needs to come up with a plan. 

_Aha!_ “Go get Dr. McDonald,” Harry says, shooting his gaze at Thomas.

“But you just told me not to.”

“I know, _I know_. And now I’m telling you to do it! Go!”

Thomas isn’t moving. Regardless, Harry must proceed. There’s no time to waste. 

He looks down at the red wax splotches as if they were Heather’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Private,” he says, just in case the man might be able to hear him. “I am _so terribly sorry_.” He takes a big breath, raises his arm, and with full force, slaps Heather hard across the cheek with his open palm. If the man was indeed waking up, then hopefully the hit should render him unconscious for a while. 

“What the Hell?” Thomas shouts.

“Shh! I know what I’m doing!”

“Didn’t you take some sort of doctor’s oath not to harm a patient?”

“It’s all right - because I’m not a doctor!” Harry rubs his stinging palm with the thumb of his other hand. He’s never hit anyone before, and he wasn’t expecting this much pain.

Thomas’ eyes are giant blue saucers. “Who _are_ you?”

“I… I was… I was just checking for response to pain.” He looks at Thomas and gestures with open hands to the man on the bed. “See? No response!”

“Because you knocked him out! Christ, Harry!”

“No, no… Well, _maybe_ … But if that’s the case, then he’ll wake up again reasonably soon. And if he _doesn’t_ wake up, then we’ll know he was still in a coma when he was groaning.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

Harry carefully tilts Heather’s head back to its previous position on the pillow. “You have to trust me on this, Thomas. I did it for _us_!”

“What? Have you gone totally mad?”

“I needed to give myself some time. You know I can’t be seen here at this late hour, and that we can’t be seen together. So could you please just go and get Dr. McDonald and Dr. Peddie? I’ll be leaving the ship while you’re doing that.” 

“And what am I supposed to tell them? That I just happened to wander in here in the middle of the night and saw Private Heather waking up… _maybe?_ ” 

“I don’t know! Just tell them you couldn’t sleep, that you were walking the deck, you heard groaning, and so you went into the sick bay. You’ll think of something, I know you will. You’re good with words, and you always express yourself well.” 

Thomas sweeps his right hand across his brow, adjusting his hair. “All right, I’ll do it. I don’t have any other choice, do I?”

Harry grins. “Thank you. I knew you’d understand.”

“I don’t understand _anything!_ ”

Harry rushes forward and gives him a hard, hurried kiss on the mouth. “Everything’s gonna be fine. See you tomorrow. Love you.” He snatches up the rest of his clothing, dashes out of the room and runs to the Great Cabin to finish getting dressed and to put on his outdoor wear. 

When fully dressed, he slowly slides the door open, creeps past cabin doors, and peeks around at the end of the hallway, checking for motion. _Ah, there’s Thomas now, leading Dr. Peddie and Dr. McDonald to the sick bay. Good._ Harry steps quietly along and successfully escapes the ship without incident.

All is well – until halfway back to Erebus, when he stops still, remembering that he forgot to pocket his bottle of grease and matches. Thomas probably had the presence of mind to take care of it before he went to get the doctors. _He did… Of course he did…_ _I hope…_

Harry resumes trudging through the snow, reflecting on their two consecutive nights of coitus interruptus. The way things have been going, he may need to put a pause on the hope of successfully completing congress with Thomas. Tomorrow night, after some preliminary hugging and snogging, he might as well ask the man to teach him how to play chess instead. 

Provided that the man will ever speak to him again.

**Author's Note:**

> When I first dipped my toe in the Jopsir waters, I didn't expect to keep going with it over and over again - but I am. And these scenarios are being posted all out of order, ha ha - because I write them all as I go, and then fit backstory and some semblance of chronology in, (I do have a broad plan, though). Maybe someday I'll get a collection or series together - for proper chronology. If there's a way to do that?
> 
> Thank you for reading. ❤


End file.
